What I Would Do for You
by NamelessPurity
Summary: The tired, depressed ex-Cerberus soldier Emile Griffith struggles with his boring, uneventful life. Suddenly, an event happens that changes his life. Is this what he has been waiting for? Takes place after Mass Effect 2. Original Characters. Rated M for smut, blood and gore, provocative and strong language, drug and alcohol use, and prostitution. Should be rated MA. Making O. Cover
1. It's A Plain Shame

**Author's Notes:**

**This is my first Fanfic. I was inspired by authors Andrio, WarlordFil, and Et2bruttus (though Et does have a FanFic account, there are no stories available, instead you must find him on Hentai Foundry [use caution please]).**

**These Author's Notes are very streamlined compared to the original version of the Author's Notes, (roughly one thousand words). It said in three paragraphs that Andrio wrote a very well known (in the Mass Effect community) series _Adamo_, WarlordFil wrote the _Enemies like You and Me_ series, and Et wrote _Mass Effect 3: Who Needs a Quad_ (pretty much pure porn) one-shot.**

**Again, this is my first story, so it may not be very good.**  
**Also, I'm taking a long time to ease into the romance. I'm more concerned about plot, though if I get requests for any type of writing (I.E. One-shots; I would also gladly do any type of spin-off on any character) I'd be happy to fulfill them.**

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**Chapter I**

**IT'S A PLAIN SHAME**

Emile Griffith jolted awake, bathed in sweat, which soaked his hair, his bare chest, and his pillow. His eyes darted from side to side, to reassure himself he was indeed alive. He was gasping for air, breathing heavily as he ran his left hand through his greasy hair; fingers spread, and rested his open palm on his slick neck. He hadn't known what frightened him during his dreams; he wasn't able to achieve lucid dreaming the night before. Or any night, ever since he was abducted by the Collectors during the attack on the SR-2 Normandy. His mind began to reel back to the events that had transpired during what he guessed was eight weeks on board the Normandy, seven or so months earlier.

_No! _He had thought. He couldn't let himself relive that hell again. He had bravely fought beside John Shepard, even after the abduction, but afterwards, when the threat was gone and thirty six days of careful consideration, he had quickly, but reluctantly, resigned from Cerberus and left Shepard's crew. Emile was worried the mental stress could have broken him — and he was probably correct. He would never forget the companions he made though:

Thane Krios, the mysterious, enthralling assassin, whom was unfortunately dying. Jack, the cold, machine-like murderer with the extremely troubled past. Legionwell, he was a machine. Jacob Taylor, the soldier with father issues. Miranda Lawson, the gorgeous but dangerous biotic. Jeff "Joker" Moreau, the undisciplined, unmannered pilot, who he had unluckily in trusted his life with. They had been good friends nonetheless. Grunt, the trigger happy, uncontrollable Krogan. Garrus Vakarian, the all around friendly Turian, who Shepherd was practically married to. Samara, the Justicar, insanely powerful with biotics. Kasumi Goto, the secretive expert thief, and Zaeed Massani, the ruthless and relentless bounty hunter that only joined for the money. Now Tali'Zorah vas Normandy. . .

Something about Tali had really acquired Emile's attention. She was very cute — rather young, but nonetheless attractive. She was one of the nicest crew members on board, when she wasn't fumbling around nervously with her words. But what had most gotten his attention was her mask; the mystery of who she was downright annoying, yet entrancing. He knew this was a tired excuse of why some found quarians rather, well, enticing, but he couldn't help himself.

It's too late at this point anyway, it been over seven months, and everybody has gone their separate ways. She was in a relationship with Shepard as well. She was most likely with the Migrant Fleet again by now, regardless of her relationship. He had sorely missed her kind attitude. He also missed her body. He was usually literally lost for words when he saw her curves, her hips. . .

Dammit, he was letting his mind drift again. It's not as if his new life is comparably better though. He worked for C-Sec, sure, but he settled for a desk job, sorting solved cases, sometimes solving minor disputes he found patrolling the ZakeraMarketCenter. It was all so. . . _boring_ to him. What would be the point in going? He did not do anything _truly_ important. Maybe he shouldn't go at all. . . _Fuck it _he thought as he got up out of bed and found a pair of fresh boxers to put on. He didn't wear much clothing when he was home, as he was living alone. He wiped the sweat from his face, and shuffled to his kitchen, or what would be called a kitchen in a fifty by sixty square foot apartment room. He was debating whether to have breakfast or just go to work. He decided to go to work, despite the time and his tiredness, so he took a shower, donned his C-Sec uniform, shoved his M-77 Paladin heavy pistol into the holster, and made his way out the door.

He is an average sized thirty five year old human male, six feet, one inch, moderately muscular: nothing god-like, but not skinny. He has black, oily unkempt hair that normally falls to cover his dark blue eyes, and is covered in fairly-tan white skin. He has one large scar running up the left side of his face from the corner of his mouth and curving just at the edge of his eye, and another scar going from his neck up to his bottom lip, to then run towards his right ear. He had lost the lobe of this ear, both scars the result of a maddened, knife wielding salarian. He has a thick, unkempt beard that connects with his sideburns; it fell far from his chin, nearly seven or so inches, making it difficult to see his skin excluding his scars, which stopped hair from growing in elongated lines. His eyes, though he was young, seem worn and tired, dully reflecting light and lacking the life that had once filled them prior to his experience with the Collectors.

Emile quickly hailed a cab and headed towards the Zakera Ward. Bailey still ran the show there, though there fluttered a minor rumor that he was to be promoted and transferred to another C-Sec division. Emile would miss him. Bailey was always kind, almost light-hearted for a man in his position. Regardless, there was no doubt the Citadel would somehow find him a suitable replacement. Commanding Officers transferred so frequently it was nearly impossible to get attached. Bailey, though, had managed to keep his head down, creating good, trustworthy relationships with employees, such as Emile. They were actually friends, and sometimes shared drinks at the Dark Star Lounge or the Purgatory.

He landed on the empty pad — save for one car — and turned off the engine. Opening the doors and walking to the entrance, he glanced at the right wall. It was very early — Emile hadn't checked the time, and saw the recently installed clock on the wall to the entrance of the Ward. 4:57 am. It made no difference to him though. Anything to take his mind off those damn memories was fine. He walked into the hall leading to the second door to enter, and was surprised to see a batarian guard standing leisurely behind the console. Emile usually saw only the turian, Nehlon Tornnus, stationed here. He never considered another soldier would be here; he figured Nehlon ran pure on coffee, or whatever the dextro-amino equivalent was. It was disturbing, mainly because the batarian waved him right through at such an opportune time for a disaster without so much as batting an eye. Nevertheless, Emile was too tired to say anything though.

He walked, very sluggishly, to his desk to the left of the main room, put his head on his desk, and instantly slept.

There was a very loud SMACKfrom a large stack of papers — solid paper that Bailey had found somehow — falling onto his desk. Bailey had let hundreds of sheets of paper slam right next to Emile's head, jerking him from sleep. Bailey was in his normal outfit, looking neither angry nor pleased. Emile looked at the holographic clock on his desk. 11:58 a.m. Why he was only being awakened now, he didn't understand.

Bailey spoke: "I let you sleep long enough. I thought eventually you'd wake your own ass up, but that obviously didn't happen." He walked to his desk on the other side of the room and sat behind his computer. He started to type something on the screen, and when he finished, spoke to Emile again. "I've noticed you've been bored lately. Or rather, ever since you joined. You had Interrogation and Resistance training, correct?" Emile nodded his head and Bailey continued: "well, then good news; it wasn't a waste of time, as I've got you someone I think you can handle — no offense. A small time criminal; turian. Planted a bomb in the Commons and detonated it."

Emile interrupted at that point, flustered. "Wait, small time?"

Bailey nodded and grinned, finding Emile's visible disappointment at a minor criminal being his only challenge amusing. "Yeah, nobody was killed, only a few thousand credits in damage. If you're wondering why they need to be interrogated by the way, it's because we believe they were hired. Maybe as a distraction, maybe as a joke, but we still need to know." Emil was about to ask more questions, when Bailey said, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to use the restroom. I've got Raerileis Tomnas bringing them in." and with that, Bailey stood up and strolled unhurriedly out of the Ward and into the Market.

After several minutes in which Emile was pacing back and forth across the room — though he didn't know why —, Raerileis Tomnas came in through the door. He was a male salarian, relatively short by their standards, pale brown skin, white face save for a brown birth mark running upwards between his eyes, green bug-like eyes, several scars under his eyes, and was always paranoid. Why would Bailey have him bring a prisoner? Emile discarded the question bubbling in his subconscious as it didn't matter. Raerileis walked through the door and into the room, a handcuffed turian behind him. _Strange. No fringe. _Emile thought as he looked at the turian. He figured it had them removed for cosmetic reasons, or it was an accident during combat, or a birth defect.

"Here you go." Raerileis said quickly as he led the turian to the holding room directly in front of Emile's desk. It stepped inside and Raerileis locked the door behind it. "Start whenever you're ready. I've gotta get back to my post." Raerileis finished with a shaky, quick light voice, rushing off to the hallway. Emile couldn't tell if he was having a paranoid fit again over the turian or the ever-busy crowd outside the C-Sec offices, or if he was sad he couldn't interrogate it. He had a rather sensitive personality, so Emile figured he could have been insulted that a desk boy was taking up the investigation. Emile shrugged off the thought and started toward the door, but stopped. Bailey hadn't returned, and he didn't know if he should go in with a lack of appropriate paperwork.

His doubt was brushed aside when the lovely long-haired ginger, Samantha, the new woman who sat at the desk perpendicularly to Bailey's, smiled and nodded to show him he could start regardless. So, Emile continued inside the long holding room and locked the door behind him, the holographic button turning red. He then turned around and saw the turian already standing in front of the door to the interrogation room. Walking to the door, he opened it and allowed the turian to step inside first. The lights flickered to life to reveal a table with two chairs on either side. The turian sat down in one of the chairs furthest from the door. Emile turned to lock the door and faced back to the turian, quickly noting once more that it lacked a normally long fringe, then noticed that it's frame was altogether more petite compared to most turians, with large hips and a rather exaggerated chest, giving it a much more curvaceous body. The head and hands, still cuffed, were a strong, pure white, it's thinner-than-normal neck spotted with brown, the plates and mandibles contained no face painting, though there seemed to be a slight tint of red patterns, as if past paints had previously existed; though why they were removed, Emile had no idea.

Looking over this turian, Emile judged that either this turian was starving, or it was. . . _A female?_ He thought. He hadn't met any female turians, or at least not that he was aware of. They seemed much more reclusive than the males. Emile didn't actually know what to say, and for a few seconds he simply stared at the female in wonderment, gazing at its hips. . . its legs. . . the elegant curves. Then he dismissed the thoughts of somehow finding it attractive and sat down. The turian hadn't said anything, nor acknowledged his staring; instead its bright, striking orange eyes followed Emile through a squint, not moving its head. _Her head._He corrected himself. He took a few seconds to gather his thoughts and to decide on his approach.

He didn't want to threaten her, at least not yet — it might be more cooperative — so he would try a more friendly approach, hoping it — _she_ — would have a positive reaction. "Hi." Emile spoke for the first time that day; he had a relatively deep voice, one that was usually compared to Thane's but more crisp; less gruff. He realized that he had spoken a little too happily for the circumstances. "Uh, m- my name is Emile Griffith." More nervously this time. "You mind telling me your name?" She said nothing, still glaring at him through squinted eyes. _Okay. Let's try another question.  
_  
"So, do you know what you're being accused of?" She still denied saying anything, but the plates that resembled eyebrows pressed together, and her nose wrinkled slightly, pressing the different nose plates closer together. She became slightly angered. Emile tried again: "I want to help you. If you're innocent, talk to me. If you're guilty, admit it and receive only community service or a minor sentence for a few months. I doubt if you plead innocent and be found guilty it'll be a gentle sentence. You didn't create much damage, but if that bomb went off in the wrong place the whole Citadel could have been destroyed." After Emile said that he seemed to get her attention; she bared her teeth, struggling to not lunge at Emile. Not quite the reaction he wanted from her.

Emile tried something else, and deactivated her handcuffs, dragging them across the table and onto his side. She rubbed her wrists with the opposite, three fingered hand, and seemed to slightly calm down. She stopped baring her teeth, and her eyebrow plates straightened out, though she was still squinting. "Would you mind talking, please? If you're innocent I can help." The turian seemed to be thinking now, looking at the ground, her mandibles slackened and hung at the sides of her face. The silence continued for a minute or two, Emile letting her start when she wanted to. Finally, she spoke. It was something that Emile simply hadn't experienced.

"I was framed." That was all she had said. She had a light, rather sultry tone, the flanging voice of turians creating two of the same, one slightly lower in tone than the other. Her mandibles constantly reacted as she spoke, revealing the openings on the sides of her mouth and showing her glistening white, sharp teeth. He wasn't sure why, but when she spoke it had sent Emile's heart rate soaring. He knew how to respond. _"I don't believe you. If you have proof please present it. Why would somebody frame you? Who would frame you? Are you pleading innocence?" _But he couldn't say it. At least not immediately. He patiently waited for the turian to continue, but she had nothing more to say.

After a few silent moments, he asked "Can I have your name?" He honestly wanted to know.

"You have to let me go." she answered, raising the plates above her eyes. Obviously dodging his question. Emile was slightly angered that she thought she could order him to do something illegal, or that she wouldn't at the very least give him her damn name.

"I can't do that. I take it you're implying you're innocent? I'd be happy to help prove it, but I can't just let you go." He felt his eyebrows press together and his mouth pucker in suppressed, sudden anger. No matter what he felt, she was just wasting his time now.

She continued to talk in quick exasperation. "You don't understand. I was framed. The person that framed me will send Blue Suns that will kill all of you, then me. You let me go free soon, and you won't have to watch your friends gasp for breath in pools of their own blood, knowing it was your fault before you get a bullet in your own head!" She gazed directly at Emile, un-waveringly threatening him. He didn't know how to respond. At this point it seemed useless, and he was close to getting up and leaving, but she _was _his criminal now, therefore, rather unfortunately based on the circumstances, his responsibility. Nonetheless, he wasn't able to tell if she was insane or trying to cover her own ass.

He decided how to respond. "I want to believe you, but I can't. We're able to hold you as long as need be, Blue Suns be damned. So if you don't talk, fine. I don't have much going on, and we have all the time in the galaxy."

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**So, how was that? I hope that was bearable. Perhaps I am being to critical of myself. You know, anxiety. Plus, I'm rather tired. Anyway, I have five finished chapters, so from now on I'll submit them in blocks of five — one each week on Monday around 9:00 pm, Pacific Time. After these five are done, I'll write and finish the next five and continue the process. Well, have a good day. Oh, and don't worry, the story is going to start really moving very soon. Also, the chapters' lengths get progressively longer. **


	2. The Struggle Within

_Sorry that this is about one thousand words shorter than the last one, but don't worry; as I said, they do start increasing. In fact, Chapter five is ridiculously long. I'm thinking of splitting it actually. I don't know, we'll see how it goes. No, never mind. Dismiss that thought. Just act like you never read that. . . Why didn't I just delete this?_

_Also, I decided to change the chapter names and Author's Notes from bold to italicized. Much better looking._

_Well, that's enough from me. _

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_THE STRUGGLE WITHIN_

And, rather unfortunately, held her they did. Days upon days, hours nonstop of Emile struggling to make his turian talk to him — no, C-Sec's turian. He mustn't become attached. She gave nothing to him, turning his questions around and changing the subject. Emile couldn't remember the amount of times he walked out from sheer annoyance. Yet, after taking several minutes to calm down, he went back in the room and continued talking to her. More threats. More "I was framed". More dodging questions. The more this continued the less he could stand, or that's what he convinced himself; actually, the more that this continued the more he was perplexed and interested in her. He listened to her excuses, his full attention enveloped around her. They had stopped being angry with each other, no more pressed brows, or puckered lips or bared teeth. They were having conversations. Then he once again had an uncontrollable dream.

Only now, on the sixteenth night, while he slept, Emile's last dream of the turian. More than a dream. A fantasy really. He dreamt living in a house on Palaven with her, sharing whatever clan's face paint or tattoo she had worn before, laying on a soft bed and pressing foreheads together, and later jumped to . . . _having sex with her_. Emile didn't know turian anatomy, but he fantasized the exaggerated chest was from two large breasts, both the same light brown as her neck and hands and missing the natural bleach-white armor plating the rest of her body contained. She housed two dainty, darker brown nipples, which were gliding smoothly back and forth against Emile's chest as he lay on top of her and vigorously thrust inside her as the two panted and moaned into each others' faces, absorbing the others' hot breath. Then as they both soon peaked and climaxed simultaneously, screaming and yelling each others' names desperately with Emile's words being drowned out (as neither he nor his subconscious knew her name), she dug her talons into Emile's back and buried her fangs softly into his neck.

Tightly wrapping her powerful, slightly bowed, bleached legs around his waist, she gave him no choice but to stay in the position as her fluids intensified and rushed outward in a sudden burst to mix with his own spurting seed, the mixture slowly leaking out of her tight sheath encasing Emile's member. They gazed lovingly into one another's reflecting, shining eyes, savoring the sweet bliss of the others' body pressed tightly against their own.

Then he was suddenly thrown back to the real world as he awakened, astonished. He found himself once more doused in sweat, but this time also sporting a rather embarrassing — though he did not know as he was still alone — erection. He quickly sat upwards on his bed desperately. _Holy shit._ Did he love that turian, the criminal that was keeping nearly everything he needed from him — the ability to gain Bailey's trust so that perhaps he could be reassigned to _anything _more adventurous? Why her of all possibilities in the past? All the humans and asari he had met? Surely not, but that was the first time he had had this strange feeling — sure, he had been with other women, many actually — distractions from those horrid memories had been his excuse — but they were only for one night, and he could never remember their names, much less care to. Yes, he had had other fantasies as well, of course, but something didn't seem right about this one. Just a feeling in the deepest pit of his now shriveled, black, cold heart seemed to garner his attention and bring a slight increase in his pulse.

Struggling to regain his cognitive function and stay focused to make it to work, Emile got up out of bed and briskly took his shower, got dressed in his work attire with the M-77 Paladin, and went to get another cab, skipping breakfast once more and repeating the same pattern he had adopted a week or two ago. It would have taken too long, hindered him from making it to work on time. At 7:39 am. When his shift starts at nine o'clock. That's a perfect reason, right?

When he later arrived at the Zakera Ward after a slow and distracted drive — weren't most of these cars automatic? He must be getting the shit taxis he decided as he walked into the C-Sec Ward. Nehlon Tornnus greeted him a "Hello" as Emile was thoroughly scanned and allowed through the hallway and into the C-Sec Ward. Bailey also said hello as Emile turned for his desk, which was unusual because Emile always went straight to the interrogation room to eagerly wait for his — _C-Sec's_ — turian to be taken from her room to the "interrogation" room — not much happened there though, not since C-Sec was nearly sued for what Shepard had done to Elias Kelham. Bailey caught this now-strange behavior.

"Something wrong, Griffith?" Bailey asked. Emile didn't answer. His hands were typing busily on his keyboard, though his tired and strained eyes seemed unfocused, distant. One quick glance on the holographic screen would reveal he had written only unintelligible gibberish. Bailey spoke again, louder. "Is there a problem, Griffith?" He moved to the front of Emile's desk, placing a hand on either side of the computer, leaning downwards. This time Emile noticed him and looked up, dark pale blue eyes struggling momentarily to focus on the object in front of him.

"N- no sir. Just had a rather . . . surprising dre- nightmare. I'm fine." He wasn't. He was troubled, indefinitely. Nor was what ever he pictured a nightmare — he felt it was the utter opposite in fact, like it was the correct way he should feel for her. Or did he? He was still utterly confused on how he felt. Nevertheless, what could he tell Bailey? _"Nothing's wrong, I only dreamt of having sex with a female turian who I've only known for now seventeen days and who is accused of detonating a bomb on the Citadel. Everything's okay. There's no way that that will possibly interfere with my work."_

After a brief, rather suspicious — was it suspicious, or was Emile just paranoid? — look from Bailey, he backed out of the document he was placing incoherent nonsense into. He was worried Bailey would pry further, but he didn't ask any more questions and backed slightly away from Emile's desk.

"Well, I guess I would have normally excepted that kind of excuse if you were ten, but fine." He said simply, "You go ahead and start that hopeless interrogation again, and tonight go down to the Purgatory with some buddies. I think you need a break — you look more tired than usual, and that's saying something."

With that Bailey went to the section that Emile's desk faced, the now unlocked hallway that was the holding cell. Bailey guided the turian — who was in handcuffs, no matter how many times Emile has removed them — into the interrogation room, and left her inside. Coming out of the holding cell, Bailey said "She's all yours." while nodding to Emile. Emile thanked him and made his way into the interrogation room, closing and locking the holding cell door. Emile then made his way inside the interrogation room and locked the room's door behind him, and then sat down on his usual side. He didn't dare look the turian in her face; instead his eyes met her handcuffs and he automatically — out of habit by now — deactivated them. Still, the silence remained until the turian broke the awkward calm.

"Something wrong? You've usually said something by now." Emile instantly thought of that fantasy he had just woken up from minutes prior and continued to avoid her gaze. "Am I wasting your free time or something?" She sounded . . . sincere — though it was a rather lame question, it certainly sounded more considerate or thoughtful compared to her usual excuses and rants. Surely she couldn't have emotions for him — surely? But something stirred inside him at her question, though what, he did not know. Emile fought with himself to tilt his head upwards, and was met with the turian slightly tilting her own head to the left, his right, with her eye plates pressed down toward her eyes in concern.

"No. It was just a . . . a rough night. I couldn't sleep." he lied, images quickly flashing in front of his eyes. "Anyway, let's get on with it." Emile had spoken rather half-heartedly. He already knew how the day was going to go. She would plead for him to let her go; saying that if he didn't mercenaries would kill everyone at C-Sec. She would say she was framed, though offering no names or evidence. Her eyes darted back and forth right now across the table, as if searching for some type of excuse to conjure up. When she had finally spoken though, Emile was surprised to find that it was a different statement than the usual.

"Take me away from here." It was a quick request, as if she was nervous and didn't want to say it at all. Emile hadn't expected this, though something now sparked in his brain and he lost his judgement on what's right or wrong, momentarily picturing the venture of what she asked of him.

"Excuse me?"he said as his judgement snapped back and he regained his senses.

"It's apparent that you aren't going to just let me leave. Do you have a ship?" Emile nodded, sudden;y remembering that hunk of unused metal he had bought a decade or so ago. "Good." she said, "Just take me with you, out of Alliance space. She has operatives in C-Sec, and they're going to make their move soon." Emile had to stop her there.

"Okay, one: why should I trust you and two: who is "she" and three: How would you know if they're about to attack?" Did Emile honestly trust her? _Yes, actually. I- I think, at least._ Even though his sanity seemed to be slowly dropping, he knew he couldn't let her know that. Not yet. Not without putting this case in danger. He couldn't just take her with him anyway, even if he wanted to. Which, truthfully, a part of him did. Maybe?

Regardless of whatever he thought, though, C-Sec would begin hunting him down for helping a criminal escape, one that was probably lying about being framed. Though the urgency in her voice suggested otherwise, teamed with her frightened gaze. And maybe the dream Emile had had was plaguing his judgment and making him infer emotions and actions incorrectly.

"Like I said" his turian replied, "I will tell you everything when you get me out of here, and nothing before; except that mercenaries always take time to scout out their job, and I know the Blue Suns' time frame. You have to trust me. I thought you said that you believed me." She leaned forward in her seat as she said this, eyes wide open, her voice dropping to an accusing tone.

Completely abandoning what he had told himself just a few moments ago — about not telling her what he thought, right? — he said in a way that would possible ruin the investigation: "No, I said I wanted to help at that time, But now I suppose that I do believe you and trust you." What he said wasn't a lie, at least he thought it wasn't. That dream was still reappearing in his sight. Something certainly was different about this one.

"I wish I could help you, I do, but I can't. I'm sorry." _What the hell am I saying? What an idiot!_ He knew the moment he finished speaking that he had screwed himself, not only with his turian thinking of him as a serious investigator, but with Bailey. Sure enough, moments later his Omni-Tool blipped on and notified him that he had received a message from Bailey. He reluctantly read it. _Come see me. _Emile hesitantly stood up, and made his way towards the door. "Excuse me." he resentfully told his turian and walked outside. The turian's eyes followed him as he walked out, unwavering.

Bailey was facing Emile as soon as he walked into the main office room. "Go home." he said coolly Emile was taken aback by the abrupt statement, his mouth gaping open.

"Wait, is this a little extreme? I mean, am I . . . Fired?" _For what? Is finding an alien sexually attractive illegal now?_ the unreasonable half of him added.

"No, you're not fired. But you're off the case. I can't have my interrogators being friends with their own criminals. That puts the whole validity of the case in distress, and I can't risk another demerit for a law suit." _Thinking of only yourself now?_ "Relax, go to the bar, do something else. But you can't see her again. Maybe you should think about shaving that mop off your face."

Bailey was his friend, so the sensible side of Emile knew that Bailey was taking him off for Emile's own safety; Bailey didn't know how he felt — hell, Emile didn't know how the fuck he felt — so it was just for his protection. To ensure he didn't make this a habit and continue doing it. To keep C-Sec and Bailey safe from legal issues. A punishment.

Emile was glad his friend cared, but forcing him to stay away from _his_ turian infuriated him! He knew better than to talk back though, so he briskly nodded his head and turned for the hall without saying a word. As he headed to the door to leave, he caught his turian's eyes. They held a gaze for a few seconds, his turian wide eyed in . . . fear? He was wading in extremely cofused despair, between being cut from his current job and separated from the turian that he might have feelings for.

Leaving with a buzzing, shrouded mind, he strained his eyes in the bright starlight that the Citadel was revolving around and called a cab.

* * *

_What's this? Something actually happened that will move the plot slightly along? Oh my._

_Also, this chapter would have been uploaded yesterday, but there were some technical problems and I had to restart the editing._

_Edit (22/12/12): Everything is out of whack! This is not my ideal schedule at all — you know, the new chapter being several weeks late and all. Also: As I said in the Summary, I'm making an original cover, in case you didn't know what the "O." was. By original I of course mean self — made and not a stock image of Omega from Mass Effect 3._


	3. I Drink Too Much

_Hello everyone! It's been a few weeks since the last major update, so I'm proud to present the next chapter, "I Drink Too Much". Again, unfortunately, this too is a rather short chapter (by my own standards at least), but the next one is indeed longer (hopefully). So, thanks for waiting. I'll try to decrease the waiting time again and return to the weekly updates. _

_Enjoy_

* * *

_I Drink Too Much . . . _

The rest of the day went by frighteningly slow. All he had to do was practice at the shooting range and wonder around in the Zakera Market. He contacted a few of his colleagues from C-sec, seven in all, and told them to meet him at the Purgatory later at night. All together there was a quarian woman named Qwadi'Nelan vas Toma who was married to Keeto'Nelan vas Toma and wore the standard quarian enviro-suit with a light blue mask; two krogan, the male was named Hormash Konde while the female preferred to keep her name a secret and was nicknamed Flora; a turian named Rien Krilus with green colonial face paint; a dark blue asari named Kothia Tonas; another human named Brandon White, and the salarian Raerileis Tomnas. Emile doubted that all of them would meet him, but he didn't care; he only needed them to get his mind off of his turian.

Emile slept — though struggling to — until the night, 11:47 pm., and tried his best to not dream of anything. When he awoke he immediately got dressed in his civilian attire: shoes, jeans, and a black shirt with a leather blue jacket. He then ran water through his greasy and long head and facial hair, properly straightening and cleaning his hair, removing the grime. He didn't quite know why he was doing this; he wasn't a person that worried about their appearance. Finally in what he judged as suitable clothes to be relaxing in a bar, he called a cab and headed for the Presidium Commons — but not before holstering his pistol to his hip — just to be careful.

Once he arrived on the Purgatory level, Emile exited the elevator and walked onward to the bar. He opened the door and walked inside, immediately having his senses blasted by loud music, beats, belligerent voices, and flashing, blinding lights. He made his way to an open circular booth in the left corner of the first level, near the bar itself, and waited for the others to arrive, ordering glasses of water for himself as the time passed. One by one they entered, Rien Krilus, the turian, came first, followed by the asari Kothia Tonas, then the krogan Hormash Konde, Qwadi'Nelan vas Toma, and finally Brandon White. Raerileis never appeared, so Emile thought he was sick or once again paranoid of the loud and drunken crowd. All the friends ordered beers — except Qwadi who had apparently misplaced her induction port — and began talking and joking for what felt like hours around the circular table, until the group began to dissipate when Hormash had to leave.

"Sorry everyone. My female wants me right now." He said with his deep krogan voice, checking his Omni-Tool as Flora hadn't come with him. He stood up, thanked Emile, and left — not paying for his drinks.

"Speaking of which," said Kothia, "It's been awhile since we've all spoken. How are all of your partners doing? My drell is fine by the way." Kothia was worried about raising an Ardat-Yakshi like most asari and as such refrained from taking another asari.

Brandon spoke up. "I've got a girl on earth. Helping in hospitals and such at a recent quake. Gorgeous, but a little too nice really. I'm afraid she'd give a homeless guy a blowjob if he just begged her enough." This brought bursts of laughter to the other four, though Brandon looked deadpan. "I'm serious! She's too gullible. That's practically how we met!" Emile was wondering what exactly he meant by that. "One guy in fact asked her if she could take out his credit chit that was deep in his front pocket — he apparently had an 'injury'. She spent minutes scratching against that guy's d—"

"Alright!" Qwadi'Nelan shouted with a wavering voice, raising her hands at him. "Don't make us all die of laughter." Everybody was struggling to breathe, including a few people that had overheard at nearby tables and were happily watching the suddenly obnoxious group. After several seconds of everyone slowly calming down, Qwadi said "Anyway, my husband is on the Flotilla, delivering food and furniture. Nothing really important to say. No crimes — no unnecessary blowjobs." She wasn't able to suppress a joke that was directed at Brandon, who bit his upper lip in annoyance. Emile was surprised by the new topic. The group had never talked of anything so personal, mainly work or the _oh-so-pleasant_ politics. He became nervous when he suddenly realized that everyone was expecting everyone to say something, and that it would be his turn to talk, and what he would say.

_Just tell them you don't have anyone._

"Well, I have a mate back on Palaven." Rien said proudly. "She's helping set up a military firebase. For what, is apparently classified, and C-Sec isn't high enough for clearance. So, no, I can't tell you where either. I probably wouldn't have anyway." This raised a few eyebrows — for Kothia it was the skin above her eye — since Rien hadn't told anybody what his mate did. Emile had figured she only worked from their home, or didn't work at all. Rien had never talked about her. As Rien turned his head toward Emile, Emile felt his heart rate increase slightly out of nervousness. He knew what Rien was about to ask. "So, what about you?" Emile now had everyone's attention. Something he did not want.

He now attempted to stall as best he could, which was admittedly — and obviously — bad. "Uh, what about me?" His voice wavered on 'about'.

"Spirits, you're horrible at playing dumb. Do you have a mate?" Rien stated impatiently.

"Well, I, uh . . . " Emile didn't know what to say. He was never very good at lying.

"Get on with it!" Qwadi said, leaning forward in interest.

Emile went momentarily blank. He didn't know what to say. The pressure, his nervousness, the expectancy, his exhaustion from sleep deprivation despite the day's rest — it was all too much for him. He uncontrollably blurted out what he believed to be the truth. "I love a turian but we're not together." There was silence after the outburst; several other people at the bar and the other nearby table turned their heads towards the group curiously. A long, uncomfortable silence continued to ensue. Brandon was obviously not happy; he wasn't xenophobic, but greatly opposed inter-species relationships.

"Well," Brandon said, rising from his chair. "It's late, I'm tired, you're a xenophile, I think I'll call it a night. See you all eventually." Brandon then continued to walk out the doors of the Purgatory, not paying for his drinks. Emile drew in a heavy breath and looked at the table, not sure what to think.

"Well, isn't that . . . unexpected. I mean, you _did_ work for Cerberus." Kothia said. "I have no problem with inter-species, um, anything obviously. It's just very unexpected from you. But that doesn't mean Brandon should have been a dick about it." She took time in choosing her words. Emile knew she wasn't trying to offend him. Who was she to offend him anyway? Qwadi was clearly unnerved, not by the revelation but by the awkwardness that hung in the air between everyone.

Rien was the one to speak next. "Well, _I_ don't think there's a thing to be worried about. I'm happy to hear this. Anything you want to know, I'll tell you. I haven't had a relationship with a human, or asari, or quarian, but I could tell you what a turian is like." Rien held an indubitable sign of pleasure; mandibles flared, eyes open, eye plates raised, mouth slightly opened. "What would you like to know? Affection, housing, habits, sex, you name it!"

Qwadi had been looking back and forth between the other three, and the situation got the best of her. "I hope you work things out, I do, but I can't take the . . . everything, right now. Bye. It was nice seeing everyone again." That was strange, seeing how everyone seemed to be settling down again.

"Something wrong, Qwadi?" Rien asked.

"Of course not. I just, I- I need to go. I'm sorry." Qwadi was stammering on each word, extremely nervously. She then rose from her seat, thanked Emile for the arrangement as she hadn't been able to drink, and left. Emile said goodbye and turned back to Rien and Kothia.

"Well. Wasn't that strange. I wonder what that was about." Emile said.

"Yeah. Oh well, doesn't matter." Rien said dismissively, still looking happy, while Kothia had been biting her lower lip.

"Are you okay? You can go Kothia; I won't be offended." Emile said facing her.

"It's not that. It was just how the others acted. Makes me think, I don't know, maybe only asari she have other species?" She quickly added: "I'm too young to decide what's right and wrong for a species; I'm only ninety three. I know I have a relationship with a drell, but asari are expected to be with other species, you know, to avoid Ardat-Yakshi. But with humans and turians . . . I don't know. I'm sorry, I have to go. I hope everything works out." She quickly stumbled out of her chair and opened her Omni-Tool to pay for the drinks. She then gave Emile an awkward smile and left. Emile suddenly realized: these were the type of people he was friends with. If they were human he'd have called them ignorant redneck fucks.

"Hey," spoke Rien, "don't listen to those assholes. Turians are great, there's no problem with how you feel. Anything you want to know?"

Emile was slightly reassured by Rien's friendliness. He relaxed a little and began to think of questions to ask to ease the tension. The two ordered a glass of beer while Emile thought. After he had a drink to calm his nerves, feeling the warmth spread throughout his body. Emile thought of a question.

"Well, I suppose I'd like to know, uh, what it's like I guess. I mean I'm not a virgin, but I've never, you know, banged a turian." he said awkwardly.

"What do you want to know first?" Rien asked. The tone of his voice suggested he really was invested in teaching Emile what a turian was like.

_Or he sees it all as a joke. Or he's piss-ass drunk_. Emile thought. He continued with his question: "Well, what should I do before, you know, _it_ starts?"

"Oh! That's easy. Well, turians don't kiss or anything like humans or asari. Instead we touch our foreheads together. So, do that. Maybe some tongue action, but be careful. She might bite off your tongue. Sharp teeth." He said as he pricked the tip of a finger on one of his fangs. Yes, he was drunk. He had very rarely spoken like that — carefree, straight to the point. "Also, don't be afraid to get touchy. Grab her ass — if a turians' can be called one anyway — rub her legs, _feel_ her, etcetera. Assert your role as alpha male. That's huge for turians." Rien was undoubtedly drunk. Emile was amused by his friend's strange behavior, but didn't know if he could trust what he was saying in his drunken state.

"Also, rub her skin in between her plates; the skin barely gets touched and most turians get pleasure out of it. If it was a male I would say to rub directly under the fringe, but females don't have those, so, yeah.

"As for anything more, licking her neck, face, mandibles — you get the point — will get you a long way. Don't be afraid to nip at her neck either. Which brings me to the next subject: biting! Turians like it rough, of course we go slow and lovingly and boring and all, but fast and hard is very common. Because of that, you may get bitten on your neck, your shoulders, and you should return the favor. Don't make her bleed, just bite down and you'll be rewarded." He took a pause to, to Emile's horror, take another drink of the fast-acting alcohol.

"I'm afraid to ask, but be rewarded _how_?" Emile asked, not sure that he wanted the answer.

Rien gave a very loud, drunken laugh and took another drink from the seemingly bottomless bottle. "'How fast do you want to go?' is the answer! Bite hard, she goes faster. We like the biting. Really, the only way to get a turian to do _anything_ you want them to is to go at it like a turian. Biting, scratching, licking, nipping — you name it. By the way, why do you like a turian in the first place? She can't look that good to a human."

"Well I don't think I'm comfortable—"

"Oh bullshit! I'm drunk anyway so I'm bound to forget all of this, just tell me."

Emile couldn't decide what to say. He didn't want to tell his drunken friend anyway. "I really don't—"

"Tell me, tell me tell me! Come on!"

"Jesus, alright. You know Rien; you're a real dick when you're drink.

_Shit, 'when you're drink'?_ Dammit, Emile was a little tipsy too. "I don't know. I suppose it'd be her, uh, curves, stature? The large hips, the chest. And for a turian, her face isn't actually bad at all."

"The chest? Oh right about that . . . Nah, I'll let you find it out. Anyway, I'm about to pass out. I'll see ya later."

"Wait, just tell me! I'll look it up on the extranet!"

But Rien ignored his pleas as he stood up, finished his umpteenth glass of beer, and stumbled, fell, and tripped his way to the door to the outside world. Emile watched in sudden happiness as his friend left, glad that at least one person would help him. He opened his Omni-Tool to pay for the drinks. The total was one thousand and seventy three credits. _Fucking hell. You're all going to pay for this._ He paid, extremely reluctantly, and made his way outside to call a cab, thinking of what Rien had told him.

* * *

_Nothing seemed to happen. Practically a filler chapter. A few things mentioned are tied into later events though, one happening in the next chapter, so try to remember some things. I guess that makes this chapter important. At least interesting. Maybe? I think soon I'll give what the chapter titles are from and why I chose them. Hopefully, maybe not by now (if you do know already good job) but soon, you'll be able to make a connection. Well, thanks for reading. I appreciate it. Also, constructive criticism will be taken happily and maturely, and I thank anyone doing so._

_Expect the next chapter not on the 24th, but on 31st (maybe later if I visit family for the holidays). Not enough time in two days. Sorry._

_(Unrelated) Suck it Mayans! We're still here!_


	4. Rise Up

_Hello! Turns out I got enough time to edit this and even the next chapter! Hot damn am I happy! This is easily the longest Chapter as of yet- 4,267 words, and not counting this. Am I perhaps too obsessed with chapter length? Hope not. Anyway,this is the chapter we've been waiting for, the big game changer. Everything blasts forward with this installment._

_Also, I decided to continue with blocks of five chapters, but now I'm adding a sixth in each block as a background or filler chapter. Instead of Emile's or even Aya's perspective (or what it would be in third person, as I've been staying close to only Emile's observations) these chapters would be of Anderson's, or Bailey's, the antagonist's, and maybe even Shepard's perspectives. These chapters will also be shorter than the average length._

* * *

_RISE UP_

As Emile was flying back to his apartment, he decided to take the long route to better clear his head, which passed the C-Sec office at Zakera. Emile didn't know how to process what Rien had told him earlier; whether he should take it seriously or dismiss it as drunken rambling. He decided both, he would not worry about it throughout his days, but if whatever form of a situation arose in which it would be necessary, he would think back on the conversation.

It was sunny out — despite the time, 1:37 am. Most people were asleep by now, so the traffic was light. As he was gliding smoothly through the artificial sky, Emile turned his head to his left to glimpse C-Sec. It was brightly lit up, with small red LED lights indicating where the cars were safe to park, and bright white lights stationed on the walls led to the main corridor. Emile was always surprised by the amazing contrast of peace on the Citadel and when he was with Shepard. Almost eerily peaceful to Emile actually. No, something certainly seemed off. He couldn't see any bystanders outside, including the woman who should have been behind the desk. The two guards that had stood on either side of the door since a recent attempted homicide earlier the same week were not there either.

As Emile was attempting to make sense of this scene in front of him, an energetic and frighteningly sudden white flash erupted from the door, followed by sheets of yellow and white fire that cascaded down from the building and to the ground of the Citadel. Debris and flames rained down on the citizens on the ground, and Emile could see many people struggling to avoid the threatening materials. Seconds later, a muffled _BOOM_ was audible. A second large cloud of black smoke followed by yellow and white expanded from the innards of the Ward, and several seconds passed before Emile heard another extremely loud _BOOM _despite his compartment. His eyes widened in terror, his mouth gaping, as he veered the car into a sharp left — nearly hitting the upper wall of a consecutive skyscraper to land in the landing zone of the Zakera building. He slowly landed and turned off the car, opening the roof and door hurriedly to step out. As soon as he emerged from the sound deafening interior of the car, the hairs inside of his ears gave way to screams and shouts, along with someone barking orders. Gun shots followed these orders, which were then accompanied by more screams. The thick black smoke slowly began to dissipate on the outside as Emile unfolded his pistol and ran to the hall, the door that had been there previously was now blown out.

The black smoke still clung to the ceiling, causing water to spray from the sprinkler system and rain down on Emile as he ran through the vacant and damaged hall to emerge into the offices. He saw Bailey behind his half- destroyed desk with his rifle, with several C-Sec bodies surrounding his feet. Blood spattered the broken and scorched walls and fragments of bones and muscle tissue were scattered on the ground. Emile ran behind his nearly disintegrated desk — which was pushed in front of the entrance of the Market presumably by an explosion and crouched down, keeping his head hidden from whoever it was that was attacking.

"What the fuck is going on? What happened to walls!" he yelled to Bailey as he observed the broken and ruined walls of the Ward, desperately wanting to make sense of the situation. He quickly realized his head was lightly throbbing and remembered that he still had a buzz. He tried to concentrate through the relentless pain.

"It's the Blue Suns! They said they wanted the turian, I said she was off-limits, and they started shooting people." There came a few shots from the chipped door to the Zakera Market, and Bailey stood up to fire off a few rounds at the attackers. There was then a scream of pain, followed by silence. This silence was then broken by more shots from an unseen location. "You have to protect that turian! They can't get it and I can't let them!"

Suddenly, Emile thought back to the turian's request: for him to take her and escape. She had been right; the Blue Suns did attack, and they had come for her. He dismissed all doubts he had of her and decided he could trust her on whatever she said. "Bailey!" He said, trying to get his friend's attention, who had fired at a Blue Suns soldier. When Bailey looked at Emile after getting back behind his desk, he continued. "Let me get that turian out of here! The Blue Suns will keep killing people until she's gone!"

"Absolutely not! I can't let you do that, regardless if either you or I think it's the best option! It's protocol; she stays here." Emile shook his head in frustration, and it was now that Emile noticed the holding room's door was struggling to close, making it halfway but then retraced once more into the right side of the wall only to repeat the process, showering sparks of white and yellow onto the ground which then faded into tiny black shards. A gaping hole consuming the door frame and most of the wall until its corner to the main corridor was revealing the contents of the room, with his turian squatting in the farthest corner from the entrance, eyes wide open and looking him in his own complementary eyes, pleading for him to help her. He knew what he had to do, or rather wanted to do the most, but knew he would regret either decision he could have made. He ran to Bailey's side, shooting at the now visible mercenaries that were rushing at the office. He crouched behind the desk beside Bailey and attached his taser to the underside of his pistol as quietly as he could. He closed his eyes, drew in a heavy breath, and faced the back of Bailey's balding head. _Sorry friend. _he thought. Emile then turned on his taser, and very slowly raised it to Bailey's back. He then pressed it firmly into him, causing Bailey to immediately physically spasm accompanied by a fit of screams, his mouth gaping open, head tilted up. He finally collapsed after several grueling seconds, unconscious. _Jesus Christ_. There was more shooting from automatic weapons in his general direction, which hit the wall behind Emile. He stood up and shot several bullets, each hitting their intended targets. He then ran back to his own desk, and then to the holding area outside the interrogation room, slipping by the door and laying his back against the still remaining wall. He faced his turian, who now stood up from her own corner to leisurely walk towards him, despite the circumstances.

"Are you going to get me out of here or not?" she asked coolly squinting her eyes at Emile. Several more shots rang along the wall and moving door, but she was utterly unfazed and remained standing completely unprotected in the space behind where the wall used to reside. Before Emile could answer her, even more bullets ricocheted off the corner of the door, making him jump back in surprise as they seemed to be closer to his vicinity as more bursts of light emitted from the ground and still standing but weakened and blackened walls of the interior. The turian finally but slowly walked to the right of Emile. He could barely understand what a mercenary said as more bullets hit the wall.

"Oh man, fuck this! I'm going in!" a deep voice yelled.

_Shit! _Emile quickly decided that since someone was entering the close quarters room and he didn't have a shotgun, and since his turian was defenseless, that it would be best to use his Omni-Tool. He activated his Omni-Tool and made a fist to close down on and collapse the ring in his palm, his custom activation for the blade. The dark red single-edged short sword levitated above his left arm as he gestured at the interrogation room while looking at the turian. Understanding crossed her face and she calmly walked back through the door and hid behind the other door. Emile could now hear the footsteps of the approaching person, whose voice sounded batarian. He raised his arm, getting ready to slash at the approaching man. A shadow now entered the doorway, the outline of a gun clearly visible. As soon as the barrel of the gun entered the small room, Emile spun from the wall, swinging out his left arm as he moved to the wall on the other side of the door. He felt his arm penetrate something solid, moving incredibly smoothly through that something.

He planted his back on the wa . . . _Oh shit._ he thought as he suddenly realized that there was no wall; his beating head and slight drunkenness causing him to forget something so obvious and important. He sprinted back to the old wall and forcefully backed into the cover. He was about to call for his turian when something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He looked at the floor, seeing a pool of dark red blood expanding and surrounding two dismembered armored legs, still attached together by a pelvis and were violently shaking and convulsing as spurts of blood left the opening at the top. Emile gagged at the sight, his first truly gory experience so close. There came a scream of pure unadulterated pain, which droned on for seconds upon seconds. Emile peeked his head around the corner, astonished to find the top half of a dark brown batarian scraping its fingers on the ground, attempting to crawl away. It's ripped and entangled entrails followed it, tracking and pumping out puddles, spurts, and wavering lines of blood along the floor as the man slid centimeter by grueling centimeter, shouting curses and insults towards Emile.

_Jesus I didn't. . . _He had meant to kill the batarian with one blow. He aimed his pistol at the batarian's head, closing his eyes and turning his head away, unable to continue looking at the horrible sight, and pulled the trigger, ending the man's pain. A few moments later, after a strange and rather needed but unsettling silence, Emile heard another voice.

"Come on you idiots! It's only one man! Don't let the fucker do this shit to us!"

The voice was frighteningly familiar. It sounded like . . . _Raerileis? _The shooting continued, though it sounded like it was coming from a single sub-machine gun now. Emile had to know. He knew he would regret it if he didn't check, though he didn't want to know. Could that small, fragile, salarian really be a mercenary, and thus the one responsible for the deaths of all the other C-Sec operatives? He carefully looked around the door way. First he observed the motionless body of Bailey_. Oh God, did they kill him? Wait, no, there's a slight rise and fall in his chest. He's untouched. _Emile kept turning his head to expand his field of view and was met with the sight of a single salarian aiming a small sub machine gun in his direction. A look of shock came over the salarian's face, and Emile heard him say "Shit." It was indeed Raerileis.

"What the fuck Raerileis?" Raerileis briefly looked at the ground, his face twisted in shame, before he looked back up and aimed his gun. His face appeared to say _sorry_ but he pulled his trigger anyway, hurling bullets in Emile's direction. Emile quickly backed up against the wall again, bullets ricocheting off the back wall of the room.

"Ahh!" The voice was light, but flanged, a clear indication of who made it; a dozen images fluttered through Emile's intoxicated mind, each one more frightening an event then the last. He looked behind him to see that the turian had moved to the holding room,, trying to make her way back to the wall Emile was against. He was able to see the turian's face slightly twisted in pain and more obviously, anger. "I was grazed, I'm fine." She did indeed have a blue patch running across the left side of her head above her eye, like a knee scrape. It was clear that the longer they stayed there, the more likely they would die. Emile looked around the doorway, shakily aiming his pistol, and shot multiple rounds towards Raerileis. He missed all the attempts. He took cover against the wall once more as Raerileis sent his own energy bolts flying toward him. Emile was quickly losing patience with the situation, and decided he had enough.

"Turian," he said to the female beside him, "run to the parking dock and get in the red taxi! I'll cover you!" More bullet rang against the wall, piercing the gray and black concrete. She looked slightly frightened now, eye plates raised slightly, mandibles slackened, but continued to stand up and stacked up against the wall, next to the exit, as Emil backed away several inches in preparation. _There's no way she detonated the bomb. She's so frightened. Even though earlier she was fine. Maybe she didn't quite know what was going on?_ She crouched down and took the pistol from the dismembered hip of the batarian which had by now stopped shaking. She turned off the safety and checked if it had a thermal clip. She nodded her head to Emile, shot a few rounds from behind cover, keeping the Blue Subs suppressed. There were more now, nine in total and just standing in the open and possibly more behind, all shooting insanely at Emile and the turian. They sounded like they were at the entrance to the Zakera Market. Emile could guess they were using assault rifles from the sound of their firing, save for Raerileis and his sub machine gun.

The turian ran toward what remained of Emile's desk to crouch beside it, taking cover from the crowding mercenaries. Emile, either from his want to protect his turian or the alcohol running through his veins, poked his head out from the entrance and shot several times at the attackers, forcing them hiding behind walls. With this, the turian than ran back through the main corridor, making her way to the taxi that Emile had indicated. Once she was out of sight, Emile ran out to take cover behind his own desk in the same fashion that the turian had, his front facing the charred and now soaked hallway to outside, rays of starshine leaking through the enormous and revealing hole that the two doors had once stood in place of.

Emile gazed down for whatever reason and noticed that the bottoms of his shoes were tacking blood from the ground, creating shoe patterned red blotches along his trail. He looked to see if Bailey was okay again; he was breathing deeply, unconscious and on his back, his chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic, and rather calming pattern.

As Emile's attention was on Bailey, he heard the footsteps of a mercenary making their way to the desk. Emile abruptly stood up, took hold of the Blue Sun — a high-ranking asari — by the collar of her armor and flipped her over the desk to land roughly on her back on the ground. She let out a gasp of pain. Emile turned on his Omni-Tool's blade, forcing it through her chest, piercing her left breast and striking one of her heart valves. Blood seeped up through her gash, trailing down the sides of her blue body armor and leaking back to soak her neck as her head turned to the left side. Gasping and sputtering blood into a pool to wet her cheek that was lying on the cold metal floor, she died. The sudden and forceful entry from his blade sent a release of pressure in the form of a blast in her body, which painted Emile's face with a few drops of her blood. He then reached for her hips, securing the Tempest sub machine gun that rested there.

Taking a few moments to get a breath and clear his still throbbing head, he sprinted to the hallway in front of him, knowing that he could easily be hit. He sprayed bullets behind him, not looking back but hoping that he hit somebody. He heard Rearileis shout "Get him _now_!" and a string of bullets hit the ground and he walls that enclosed him.

Just before Emile exited the Ward, he felt a sharp pain in his left leg. He looked down as he fell to see a clean hole the size of a thermal clip in his leg, revealing not only muscles, blood veins, tendons and bone in his leg, but also the floor that should have been blocked by his leg. Emile fell to the floor, banging his head on the hard metal, shouting in pain and gripping his calf. He tilted his head back in agony as he rolled onto his back, and saw that his turian was making her way to him. She got a hold of the sub-machine gun that he had dropped on the ground and fired nonstop into the hallway, keeping the mercenaries suppressed. The thermal clip overheated and she hooked her left arm around Emile's underarms, lifting him up.

"Get your ass moving Griffith!" she shouted close into his face; he was able to taste her breath. Emile could not move very well, despite his futile attempts, and relied on the turian's strength to hobble to the taxi as quickly as possible. The turian loaded another heat sink into the gun as she ran to the left side of the car, dropping Emile into the drivers seat. He started the engine and the car came to life, the turian shooting towards the Ward to keep the attackers at bay. The car lifted into the air as Emile managed one last glimpse at Raerileis firing a few rounds. He closed the roof and doors, speeding away and avoiding what existed of the still-light traffic. His leg continuously bled, dripping a frighteningly steady flow of black blood onto the floor of the car, creating a dark stained puddle, the carpet quickly becoming saturated. The turian talked to Emile while she continued looking backwards to ensure that they were not being followed.

"How badly are you wounded?"

"I'll live. I think." he said as he observed the water-faucet like stream of his own blood, his drunken mind not quite understanding how bad it was. He started again: "If you could apply a layer of Medi-Gel though, that'd stop the bleeding." Out of the corner of his now slightly blurring vision, he saw his turian turn around to sit in the chair and acquire a tube of Medi-Gel from the glove compartment. She quickly squeezed out a small amount on her right index finger, which she brought down to Emile's leg after rolling up his pant leg and evenly applied a layer to the front of his leg to cover and even fill the gap, then repeated the process for the back of his leg. Emile squinted in pain as the medicine took effect, struggling to concentrate on driving.

"Are you alright now?" the turian asked him.

"Yeah, I think I might be able to manag." His voice caught on the _manage_, not pronouncing the word correctly. The wound hadn't hurt as much as it should have, more or less because of the adrenaline raging through his body. He knew he owed his turian an apology for not heeding her generous warnings. "Look, I'm sorry, about you know, not doing anything before. You looked pretty. . . pretty scared back there." There was something wrong with his voice. The turian noticed now that they were safe and in the quiet car that he had a slight slur in his voice that was normally not there.

"Are. . . have you been drunk the entire time?" she asked disbelieving.

"Not- not much. I just had a few drinks. Light headache. Hurts like hell now though." He squinted his eyes as another wave of pain hit his head.

She gave him a blank stare, her bright orange pools of eyes boring into his blue ones. "That's just great. Anyway, thank you for saving my life, even though you had to betray your CO." Emile nodded as an answer, about to tell her his head was clearing but decided not to —it seemed pointless. She continued speaking: "How far is it to your ship exactly?"

"Not far. Ten, twenty minutes maybe?" It was now 02:04 a.m.; the traffic was still light. The light emanating from behind the Citadel Embassy created a white haze over rooftops, making long shadows that stretched over the artificial ground and other buildings of the Citadel. There was an unfitting calm to the events that had just transpired. It was as if Emile were in a dream, switching illogically and suddenly from one passage of REM to another in his minds natural re-nourishment. It seemed like he just left a violent nightmare, or even altered memory of his time in Cerberus, and now suddenly swapped to his ideal life and society, where the only noises were the car's engine, and the steady, calm breathing of the turian and Emile as they were surrounded by peaceful people and slow cars.

He kept glancing at the turian, trying to read her facial expressions. She appeared calm, everything relaxed, blinking steadily. Her eyes followed the passing cars and buildings, her head turned slightly to the left, mandibles kept tightly at the sides of her face. Emile suddenly realized as he widened his eyes in shock: she seemed beautiful to him, calmly sitting next to him with a twinge of white light gently outlining her lithe form. And he was happy to acknowledge this. His mind finally cleared from his light drunkenness, along with all the doubt and struggles that had arisen nearly twenty hours ago. His mind actually felt more clear than it had in a very long time. And it was because of her. The turian convict. His prisoner.

No, she was more to him. She was the turian that gave him a wakeup call of his current life, and it was one he would answer and proudly accept as much as possible if this were the results.

He was finally at peace. All of the thoughts of despair, and pain, and misery that had plagued the back of his mind were silenced, leaving not a single trace that they had ever existed. She did this was all because of her. _How had I fallen for this turian so quickly? _he thought to himself. But then he realized that he simply did not care.

"What? It's been five minutes." she asked suddenly, surprising Emile. He hadn't expected her to notice his looking and was surprised by the amount of time that had supposedly already passed. He turned his head forward again and cleared his throat nervously.

"Nothing. Just trying to. . . learn to read your expressions." He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. Nervously, really.

"Oh. It must be hard then, you seemed so. . . lost."

"Yeah, sorry. Anyway, can you tell me anything yet? Like, oh I don't know, what your name is?" He said sarcastically; he was annoyed from always calling her 'turian'.

"No. The car could be bugged. And the transport hub is too crowded. On the ship." She turned back towards her window, looking out back onto the environments. Unfortunately to him, no longer looking at Emile. "Are we close yet?"

"Looks like we have a few more kilometers. You know what'll happen, right? We can't stay in any nearby syste—"

"I know." she said, interrupting him. "That salarian that was shooting at us outside —he looked familiar. Do you know who he was?" She asked to change the subject; she was now intently facing Emile. He knew she wouldn't like the answer.

"Well," he spoke hesitantly, "that was Raerileis. He was the one that brought you to me on the firs—" Her eyes flared up, her nose wrinkled and her teeth were bared at him.

"I fucking told you! I fucking warned you Griffith!" She hollered threateningly, now leaning in towards him.

"I know, I'm sorry I didn't listen, but I couldn't. Not with what you were suspected of doing. It was apart of my job anyway." _Man. I guess I'll have to get used to that sort of anger. I always seem to choose a touchy one, don't I? _He thought, remembering Tali's angry and ferocious while rare outbursts. He chuckled to himself as a memory flashed by of a drunk Tali viciously but hilariously calling Miranda a bitch. The turian noticed his sudden, if brief, joy but didn't say anything or acknowledge him, clearly still angry. After that, neither one of them spoke, and the rest of the drive was —to Emile —an awkward silence.

* * *

_So, now we have it. Where could it go from here? Many, many places actually. _

_Oh, and Happy Holidays everyone!_


	5. Come Sail Away

_Hey everyone, so here's the fifth entry. I. . . really don't have much to say. _

_Enjoy_

* * *

_COME SAIL AWAY_

When Emile and the turian arrived at the parking lot outside Docking Bay J-734 on the Presidium ring, the traffic had finally picked up. The drive there was longer than expected, with the two taking detour after detour to evade Blue Suns patrols. C-Sec was not pursuing them yet, but eventually they would watch the security tapes and see what Emile had done. After that, they'll commandeer his apartment, his bank account, insurance, and passports. When, though, remained a threatening mystery. Emile parked the taxi as casually as he could, and the two walked — Emile doing his best not to limp — through the security scanners leading to the docking bay. They maintained a steady pace, greeting guards and civilians in friendly attitudes, as they walk in a manner that suggested they were friends going to the same destination. It was another strange and dream-like transition; first they were in a battle for their lives with terrifying screams and loud bangs, then to the quiet — and rather uncomfortable — interior of the car. And now they were shuffling through the busy, obnoxious, but safe passageways of the transportation hub.

Upon exiting a security checkpoint with two scanners, they made a right and continued through a set of doors. They hadn't said anything since when they were in the car. Emile couldn't think of anything to say, except maybe how his intoxication had finally dissipated or how clear his head felt, but he decided against it as it was probably not a subject she would care for. The two were welcomed with a room with windows taking up the entire right side wall upon exiting the door, presenting a glorious view to multiple ships and the immense galaxy that the Citadel was floating in. He stopped walking half way through the new room, and faced the window proudly.

There it was.

It was nowhere near as large as the new _Normandy_, nearly twenty-five percent shorter and with only three decks instead of five: his personal cabin, the Combat Information Center, and Engineering, which was crammed into one level with an Infirmary. The ship was powered by a relatively modern Faster-Than-Light Core despite the ship itself being made nearly two decades earlier, powered by a military issue Anti-Proton Drive, and fueled by Element Zero. It did not need as much fuel as the Normandy for Faster Than Light travel, but still did require a substantial amount. His ship, named the _Nocturne_ for its extraordinary stealth capabilities. The three thrusters it held were all connected on the port side while the starboard was bare. The closest thruster to the ship was the largest, and they decreased in size consecutively. The overall shape of the _Nocturne_ was much like the _Normandy_, the most substantial difference besides the engines being that the front of the ship ended in a single triangular round point, like half a cone, unlike the _Normandy's_ flat nose.

The turian gave him a questioning look, which he answered with, "There she is.", smirking as he did in pride and nodding towards his unused vessel.

"_That's_ your ship? How could you afford it?" her mandibles slackened in disbelief, eyes closed slightly in curiosity.

"I never said I could afford it. That would be the reason I am so poor. It took many years and a lot of loans to pay off. For a fifth wheel, it was expensive."

"'Fifth wheel'?" she asked, one eye plate raised in curiously.

"It's a human saying. You know — unused, unneeded, waste of credits? It arose when humans still had wheels on cars and they didn't fly." He explained, remembering that she probably didn't understand many human idioms.

"Oh. I see. Anyway, let's go. Can't waste too much time." With that she turned toward the doors leading to his ship, Emile following. When they made their way to the airlock connected with his ship, Emile stepped forward and allowed a self-installed security device to scan his eyes. After several seconds the bright blue grid illuminating his iris turned off and the red button on the door faded to green. With a slight stall, indicating how long it had been since last used, the doors slid oped to reveal another cramped airlock, the one inside the _Nocturne_. They made their way inside and the doors closed behind them.

"That was rather old-fashioned." The turian remarked of the eye scanner.

"Yeah, I kind of have a thing for old mechanisms." He typed in the password for the next door, which split into two and receded into the walls slowly. They walked forward and the turian took in the surroundings.

There was the cock-pit to the left, with a rotating seat and holographic display panels enclosing the seat, accompanied by one terminal with its own smaller chair on either side of the larger chair itself. To the right perpendicularly were two more chairs on each side with their own holograms that must have shown the weapons and stealth system diagnostics. The turian could not guess what the other terminals were for then.

As they turned to the right to see the rest of the ship and continued onward through the ship, the turian noted that there was a screen along the right wall that would show the well-being of the ship's engines and drive core, along with any vital interior areas, and would display any injured areas of the ship. A display of the galaxy appeared in the center of the room, indicating that they were in the Citadel's system. There was a door behind the galaxy map leading to the elevator to his cabin, and stairs leading down in a spiral fashion to the left of the door. There were dim lights that lit the interior in a gentle and calming way, creating another welcoming air of peace as the two stopped to stand in front of the elevator door and faced each other.

No one was on-board.

"Why is it so empty?" the turian asked, turning her head this way and that to take in the low lit environment.

"I don't have a crew." Emile explained embarrassingly.

"What? How the hell are we supposed to go anywhere?" she replied angrily, glaring at Emile. The pose was relatively threatening.

"Well, I can pilot this thing, as for the rest—" he was cut off by the sound of metal scraping and a gun unfolding behind him. The two looked upwards to see a small, single barreled turret on the ceiling, aiming at the turian. There was an orange flicker behind them, and a smooth but heavily British voice followed.

"You seem to have an intruder, Captain." A sound indicated the turret was preparing to fire, and a right LED light lit up on the turret above the barrel. _Oh shit_.

"SAM, disengage! The turian is a friend!" Emile hollered quickly. A few seconds passed in silence, the turret still aiming at the turian.

"Of course Captain, my apologies. Tourian recognized as ally." The red light flickered off and the turret folded back into the ceiling. "Again, sorry Captain."

"What the fuck is that?" the turian asked, facing the direction that an orange light was emanating from. Emile turned around to see a bright orange hologram atop a pedestal as it displayed two orange cubes floating, spinning, and moving from inside to outside of each other and back again, constantly changing sizes; a tesseract.

"That's my ships Quantum Blue Box A.I., named Sam. It uhh, it doesn't stand for anything, I just decided to name him that. Maybe I could change it..."

"AI? On your salary?" She asked disbelievingly.

"I've only been at C-Sec for five months. Before that—"

"It has been seventeen years, three months, twenty-four days, five hours, thirty-two minutes and fifty-three seconds since you were last on-board. In this time I have run maintenance regularly to ensure that when you returned, the systems would be prepared for any flight for any distance." Sam informed Emile. It spoke seamlessly and fluently to recall what it had done on its own time with a light British accent.

The turian's eyes widened and she glanced at Emile questioningly. After that Sam flickered out, with the sound of the drive core starting up. The lighting intensified around the metal interior, illuminating the once-dark environment. "Please request a destination, Captain."

Avoiding the turian's gaze momentarily, Emile made his way to the map and looked it over. "Where would be the best place to hide?" he said to himself quietly. "Not Alliance space, certainly — a place with small mercenary influence, so the Terminus systems are also out of the question." Something caught his eye, in the northeastern section of the galaxy. A small blip: the Far Rim. He didn't know if it was because it was mostly desolate of outsiders, or because Tali could have been there; he needed an old friend he could trust. There was also no other location Emile could think of, so he took several seconds to consider the positive and negative outcomes, knowing there would be geth, but also that the quarians were there. If the quarians felt threatened they would certainly destroy the _Nocturne_ and Emile. They could also be indifferent and not acknowledge his presence. The geth would attack on sight relentlessly and mercilessly. And if he didn't go at all, Emile would have to fight both the Alliance and the Blue Suns. He easily decided that traveling there would be far better than staying in their current position.

"Sam, plot a course for the Far Rim." he told his AI, who flickered back to life behind and to the right of him.

"Captain, the Far Rim is on the other side of the galaxy. While it is a manageable distance to travel, the journey will undoubtedly deplete our fuel reserves several times over. We will also be required to jump through several Mass Relays, and the overall length of the journey could be several days, one to two weeks if we meet any sort of . . . resistance. For whatever reason you intend to travel to the Far Rim, I advise selecting another destination, perhaps one that is safely in Alliance spy"

Emile interrupted him at this point. "Sam, just plot a course. I know how long it could take. As for the Alliance, they're out of the question."

There was a slight hesitation from Sam. ". . . Of course Captain. Setting route, unlocking from Citadel." The hologram faded out and the galaxy map set its cursor over the Far Rim. A low humming sounded from inside the ship, and more white lights turned on, further lighting up the spacious, empty room. The ship then jerked to the right, un-docking from the Citadel, and started to drift towards the distant Mass Relay. Emile let out a deep breath, relieved that they were leaving. He thought about mailing his friends to tell them what had recently transpired. Only one came to mind; perhaps Rien would be accepting of the circumstances, regardless that he was in C-Sec — if he wasn't still hammered that is. Emile turned on his Omni-Tool, turning around and preparing to send a message, when he caught the turian's eyes. He then remembered his questions and turned off his Omni-Tool.

"We're on the ship now," he said, "can you tell me your name?" The turian unwaveringly gazed into his eyes, her mandibles tightly pressed to her mouth.

"Aya Vallokius." she answered. Emile felt something inside him jump at this, ecstatic that she trusted him enough to tell him her name.

"Aya..." he said, nodding gently as her name rolled from his mouth. "I like it. It's good to finally have a name for you." They simply looked at each other now, Emile relishing her name. She raised an eye plate, and he quickly realized she was impatiently waiting for his next question. "Right... The next thing would be... who the hell is trying to kill you?"

Her eye plate fell back down to its resting place as she took several seconds to continue looking at him before simply saying, "You don't want to know." This only furthered his curiosity. Surely the person trying to kill Aya was not _that_ dangerous?

"Actually, I do want to know. Just tell me."

Her eyes nervously darted to the ground, darted from left to right once, then came back up to look at Emile. "Aria T'Loak." She whispered. Emile felt his mouth hang open, too stunned to reply. His eyes desperately searched for any sign that she was lying, that she was playing a joke on him, that she had accidently said the wrong name. There were none.

"Y-you mean _t-the_ Aria T'Loak? Like, runs-Omega-and-is-the-most-dangerous-Asari-in-the-Terminus-Systems-and-possibly-the-galaxy Aria T'Loak?" Aya nodded her head slowly, looking away from him. He whispered "Holy shit...", and his face donned an expression of hopelessness. The odd pair — an injured C-Sec desk-jockey with a troubled mind and one female turian convict he knew nearly nothing about — were running from the not only the Alliance and the Blue Suns, and possibly any other mercenary group, but from Aria herself? "I... Why? What could you have possibly done to piss off Aria?"

Aya took another moment of hesitation. "Well... Perhaps we should talk about it in your cabin." Emile was about to ask why, but she was already making her way towards the stairs to the left of the elevator.

"Hey," he said, "you have to take the elevator. That goes to Engineering" He pointed with his right hand and Aya followed the direction, her eyes landing on the door. Without saying anything she walked to it and pressed the green button for them to open. She walked inside and turned around to face Emile, waiting for him to join her. "You go up," he said to her. "I'm going to have my leg checked out." Before she could protest — she looked like she was about to — Emile thrust out his hand to press the button and send the elevator up to his cabin, the door closing and not permitting Aya to walk out. "Sam, make sure Aya doesn't attempt to get into my personal files." He wasn't entirely sure if he could trust her, never mind his feelings for her.

"Of course Captain."

"And don't kill her if she tries." he quickly finished.

"Understood Captain." Sam almost sounded disappointed.

With that, Emile limped to the stairs and made his way down to the Engineering Deck of the ship. In this new section, there was a relatively vacant space. On the opposite side, towards the front of the ship, were doors that opened to the life support systems. To his left from just outside of the staircase was the door to the drive core, and next to that room was the A.I. and opposite to that room on Emile's right were the weapons systems station; the _Nocturne_ had small defensive cannons, but nothing meant for a full-on battle with anything like a dreadnought, though it could still hold a fight with any modern-day flag-ship or reconnaissance vessel. In the center of the room was a closed-in boxed section with a door which lacked any windows: the Medical Bay, which contained Medi-Gel applicators, body analyzers, patient cots, and most things necessary were anyone injured, even light- poisoning antidotes. It actually looked much like the one on the _Normandy_.

Emile made his way to the Medical Bay, thinking to himself. The turi — _Aya_ — couldn't have done anything to piss off Aria, surely. He heard her wrong, or she said the wrong name. Aya had been do frightened in the recent fight at C-Sec; how could she have possibly been brave enough to defy Aria T'Loak? Still distracted by his thoughts, Emile opened the doors, locked them behind him, and limped inside. Sitting on one of the beds, he reached his arm out and activated the Medical VI via the console protruding from the bed, which automatically began to scan his body. Centering the fanned-out blue grid on his leg after several moments, the machine identified his wound. A robotic arm moved forward from the wall opposite Emile, lifting his leg. As it did, another arm moved from the ceiling with tools.

The V.I. alerted Emile. It had the light and delightfully comforting voice of a woman. "It appears that your tibia has sustained a bullet wound. It is chipped on the outside and vacant on the inside in the vicinity of the injury. I will need to fasten a metal plate on your leg to replace the missing fragment, and regular medications will help rebuild the inside of the bone and solidify your leg. It will all assist in movement." The arm from the ceiling turned around and selected a rounded piece of shiny metal. It turned back to Emile and began lowering to his knee slowly. He grunted in pain and squinted his eyes as his vision lightly blurred as the metal plate was gently pushed through the opening in his skin and lightly scrapped against his vulnerable muscles. Small traces of blood arose as the metal reopened his dried wounds, revealing glistening pink skin and tendons.

When the slab rested on his red-stained tibia, the arm then screwed it in with a small driver, securing it to his leg. He could feel the vibrations through his shaking leg as the screw penetrated and slightly cracked his bone. "Should I be watching this?" Emile breathed through the pain, struggling to keep his focus.

"No, but you did not request any sedatives or covers. I must do what is most comfortable, and if it is not requested and not necessary it is recognized as unneeded. Had you requested a cover, I would have gladly provided one. My apologies." The V.I. stated matter-of-factly. _Of course I would have to ask. _Emile thought as the arm then turned back towards the table and selected a clamp. It then lowered its hand to Emile's knee cap and placed the clamp down. It then turned the screw in the center of the clamp, and the clamp enclosed on the opening of skin on his leg, closing shut the gaping wound. The process was then repeated in another painful manner on the underside of Emile's leg.

The arm protruding from the wall lowered his leg and bent back into the wall. The upper arm folded back into the ceiling. "You may move now." the medical V.I. told Emile. He stood up and attempted to walk to the door, but nearly collapsed instantly from the unfamiliar sensation of a metal lump residing under his skin, leaning against a wall with his hands. His leg pulsed, sending shock waves of pain through his body. He bared his teeth and squinted in pain once more, still standing and putting weight on his left leg, allowing his body to adjust to the now permanent adaptations. When the pain subsided to a manageable degree, he unlocked the door and continued limping to the stairs. As he climbed one step at a time slowly, the pain gradually faded further out of his mind, to only be replaced by Sam's voice.

"Captain, it appears that Aya attempted to breach your personal files." He spoke rather slowly, as if afraid to tell Emile. He didn't understand the cautious tone, though, and replied.

"Thanks for telling me, but you don't have to warn me about everything. She failed after all." Now there was a pause. A long, worrying pause. Emile understood before Sam continued.

"She managed to break through the first security wall, and I set a second set, yes," he hesitated to continue, "but she was able to break that as well. I'm afraid she has seen your personal data." Emile paused his gait, mouth slightly open. That was the reason she wanted to go to his personal cabin! Aya would see his records, his messages . . . She would see the message from the Illusive Man about his resignation. _Shit . . . _He rushed to the elevator doors in front of him, slamming his fist into the green hologram. Several seconds passed and the doors whistled open, revealing the elevator. He stepped inside the small, dark box, turned around, and quickly pressed the button indicating his personal cabin. The doors smoothly closed and the room lurched upwards suddenly.

Many thoughts ran through his nervous mind. What would he tell her? How would Aya react to him being in Cerberus as a turian? Should he even try to justify himself? How violently could she act? Surely she wouldn't threaten him, not after everything he's given up to save her; no, he was wrong to trust her; she was only using him; he should turn her in. Suddenly, another thought occurred, one that revealed itself from deep in his mind: He should just kill her. Save him the trouble. No, what was he thinking? He loved her, didn't he? Didn't he?

Before he decided on what to do, the elevator stopped moving. It lingered there several seconds more. More seconds passed. Grueling seconds. He was about to ask Sam if the elevator had broken, when the doors opened to reveal another door leading to his personal cabin. He slowly walked out of the small box and faced the new door. He took a deep breath, his nerves racking his mind, unable to concentrate.

He was able to feel his heart beat hammering his chest, pulsing at an uneven pattern. After several more breaths, he gently pressed the green button. The door _swooshed _opened to his cabin; it was a standard captain's cabin, all together larger than his entire cramped apartment. There was a king sized double bed at the back of the room, which had two katana crossing each other and hanging on the wall. To the right of the bed was a nightstand with an antique lamp sitting on top. Stacked underneath the lamp shade were actual solid books. The right wall of the cabin was completely covered in very thin plexiglass for vids and face-to-face communication, with one couch awkwardly placed against the wall and under the glass; the leather looking out of place among the glass and metal. A glass coffee table was placed in front of the couch, parallel to it. Along the left wall was more glass screens, with one, cabinet sized break which housed his clothes and armor.

To the direct right of the entrance was a small desk perpendicular to the wall, with a small seventy gallon fish tank on top of it. There was also Emile's computer, with the screen turned on and in _Private Messages_. His blood ran cold as he cautiously crept into the room. He couldn't see Aya anywhere.

"Aya?" he called into the room, not seeing anything suspicious. He started towards his computer and stopped next to the door to the restroom. He very carefully reached his hand out to open the door. He pressed the button and was surprised by the sight that met him when the door opened. Nothing. Nobody was inside. He leaned in carefully, turning his head around the corner of the door frame to look at the leftmost corner. Still seeing nothing, he backed out and closed the door. Turning to his computer, he saw that the message from the Illusive Man was open.

_Emile Griffith,_

_It's sad to hear of your choice, though I understand your concern. Many other crew members have also requested resignation from Cerberus, to which I agreed. Just realize, I put you on the Normandy because I believed you would be able to withstand the stress that Shepard brings with him. I still do, however, but it seems as if you do not know your own limits. You are capable of great things, if you just believe you are. Any problems you have in your future — though you have resigned from Cerberus — can be dealt with; even financially. We don't forget those that have served under us. Please, be careful. It'd be a shame for your talent to go to waste._

_Illusive Man_

That was the last message sent to or received from Cerberus. It hadn't meant anything to Emile, not the compliments, not the promise to help in the future; it was all lies when he realized Cerberus' true intentions. He was about to close the message when he heard a sound to his left; footsteps, moving quickly in his direction. As Emile quickly looked towards the sound, he was barged into by something bleach white and strong. Knocking the breathe out of him, the object picked him up off his feet with a blow to his stomach and barreled him into the wall perpendicular to his desk. Hitting the wall with a loud, audible thud, he was shaken by the impact and his head recoiled and hit the wall. Slightly dazed and seeing two of everything, he looked down from his raised viewpoint to glimpse a strong, plated white creature holding him in the air, it's brown arm crossing his neck and holding him to the wall, making it difficult to breath. Something cold and metallic then poked his belly, sending a shiver of fear through his body. Bright orange eyes burned through his dull blue ones; a nose wrinkled; eye plates pressed together in rage.

He held her arm with both his hands, attempting to pull it away, when Aya leaned her head towards Emile, her mouth close to his right ear. She asked him in a hushed whisper: "You worked for Cerberus?" She kept her head where it was at, waiting for Emile's answer. Silent, calm moments passed between them, no sound but the beating of their own hearts. Emile was frightened, no doubt, about what she could — or would — do to him. She certainly had the strength to harm him by will, and it didn't help he was still injured. It seemed pointless to lie; she had already seen the message herself. She was simply asking to see what he would say, if he would defend himself. Taking a few more seconds to breathe in deeply, he replied with one word.

"Yes." It came out mangled and quiet enough that even he had trouble hearing it. But she didn't. As soon as he answered, her grip tightened even more so, choking Emile. She brought her face back in front of his, glaring into his eyes. Her expression was maddened, eyes wide open, nose wrinkled, teeth bared.

"Why didn't you tell me? Did you think I wouldn't find out?" She hollered at him, the flang in her voice exaggerated, piercing his ear drums. He could taste her breath; it had an alien taste to it. It wasn't appalling really, almost . . . enticing. _What the hell am I thinking? _Emile thought. He struggled to gather his thoughts, distracted both by fright and some slight, primal arousal. That was certainly concerning for him.

"I didn't think it would be important." was all he could think to say. This only seemed to enrage Aya further as she pushed her arm further into his neck. He began to breathe heavily as it became difficult to take in air, and she began digging her long, sharp talons into his left shoulder. Shots of pain rose to Emile as he felt his shoulder and clothes dampen. He squinted in pain, struggling to continue looking at Aya.

"Not important? It wouldn't be important for a turian to know that she is traveling with a Cerberus agent?" She spoke softly this time, leaning closer to Emile. "What are you trying to do?" She asked.

"I don't understand." he answered. She abruptly pushed on his neck in anger, sending his head back, hitting the wall.

"Why did you _save_ me, dammit?" She whispered, piercing his shoulder further. That was something he had been asking himself actually. He didn't know the truth — or rather a part of him still didn't want to believe what could be the answer — and tried his best to answer in a way she would believe.

"You were innocent. You could have died. Others could have died. It was the only thing to do." He struggled to say, Aya's arm relentlessly crushing his neck.

"That's why? I don't believe you. Why did you join Cerberus exactly?" Her arm slightly settled, allowing Emile to breath a bit easier.

"Because," he said, "I didn't know what they were planning to do." Aya's arm tightened once more as a curious expression took her face. Emile explained. "I grew up mostly on human colonies. They don't talk of Cerberus much; there isn't many aliens that need to worry about them."

"Then why would you join in the first place?"

"I thought they were like the Alliance, but with a better pay grade. There were other aliens anyways, like Garrus Vakarian and Tali'Zorah." he breathed. _Why did I add their names? _However, at the mentioning of the turian and quarian, Aya's eyes widened and her grip on Emile nearly vanished, and the metal object at his belly eased its tension.

"Wait. You served on the _Normandy_? That must mean that Shepard trusted you. . ." She trailed off deep in thought. Taking this opportunity, Emile suddenly thrust his legs into Aya's abdomen, desperately trying to force her away. She had barely resisted however and was backing away on her own. Her arm detached from his neck, and the cold object left Emile's stomach area. His feet hit the ground and he supported his weight on his desk with his hands, surprised from the sudden release. Emile could now see that Aya held a pistol in her right hand. She began to speak again: "So. You're not bad then. And if Cerberus put you with Shepard, you must be skilled. Fine." She laid the pistol on Emile's desk. She bowed her head apologetically and started backing towards the door.

"Wait," Emile said. "Don't leave yet." He paused to rub the front of his neck with one hand, gathering his breath. She stopped walking towards the door and looked at him. He continued: "I still have a few questions. Why don't you take a seat?" he gestured towards the couch with an open hand. Her eyes moved from him to the couch repeatedly, until she finally gave in and started towards the cushioned seats. "We're good, right? You're still not angry, are you?" She shook her head as she continued walking towards the furniture.

Noticing that her talons were still painted with his own crimson blood, glistening against the soft lighting of his cabin, he walked back into his bathroom. Taking off his shirt, which had three large, round holes dotting his shoulder, he leaned in under the shower head now running with water, rinsing off the blood that had gathered on his shoulder. Bright red water ran from his arm and puddled on the floor before swirling into the drain. Stepping away from the shower head he dried off his wet shoulder and arm with a towel, then applied a layer of Medi-Gel over the new orifices. He continued wetting the towel in the sink and it darkened with the gathered water, partly covered in a bright red patch. Draping his shirt over his left arm he walked out and made his way to Aya who was sitting on the couch. She seemed to be intently studying the swords that hung above his bed.

"Why do you have those?" she asked without looking at him. "And that thing?" She pointed to the lamp on his nightstand. Emile chuckled under his breath, genuinely amused by her curiosity and the hint of distaste in her voice.

"I told you when we first entered: I like old things. Not sure why really. I guess because I grew upon an old fashioned colony." he said when Aya faced him, looking as though she would ask more. Her eyes fell to the white and red-blotched towel in Emile's hands, then her gaze changed to her talons. A wave of shock took her face and her mandibles slackened.

"I— I hadn't meant to do that." She explained remorsefully with wide eyes. She seemed angered with herself now. How quickly her mood changed! One moment she was enraged with him, threatening his life and prepared to take it, and now she was depressed with herself, ashamed at what she'd done. Her head hung low, avoiding Emile's gaze. He sat on the couch next to her, holding out the towel to her.

"It's fine. Really. I suppose maybe I _should _have told you. But I don't know when I would have gotten the chance." he said simply. Her head shot up, now void of shame. She immediately stole the towel in his hand, wiping off his blood from her talons and fingers. What an actress. She laid the reddened bundle onto the glass table as a few strands of water mixed with blood seeped onto the decoration. She looked at the dark holes in his shoulder, now covered by quickly dried blood and waxy looking gel. She continued to study the injuries for a few more seconds, extending the silence.

Suddenly, she asked, "How long were you with Cerberus?" Aya was looking at him intently now, staring into his eyes.

"About two months." She was surprised by the answer.

"That's it? What'd you do before then?"

He paused, not quite knowing what to say. He couldn't remember backing any long term jobs. He had been traveling his entire life, with no family businesses or inherited jobs. Mechanic here, secretary there, bartender every now and then. Not such an impressive background.

"Well," he said, "I. . . Disagreed with my family throughout my childhood. My mother was a mechanic for the military, and my father was stationed at an Alliance firebase. They were also heavily religious despite their careers — Christians. I couldn't give a shit about those superstitious fairy tales. It just seemed silly and unneeded, you know?" Aya continued watching him, her attention completely enraptured. "The rest of my family was involved in government or military jobs. My brother was a pilot, and my sister. . . She was killed at seventeen; burglary gone wrong. Three years later, I turned eighteen. This far, I wasn't anything like my parents. I did not want anything to do with the military, or the type of jobs they had. I walked out. Left my family." He took a short pause, struggling to remember his past that he had, for the most part, repressed. Aya searched his face while he thought, attempting to read an aliens' facial expressions.

He finally started again, lacking most of the emotion that he had spoken with.

"No goodbyes, no 'we'll miss you'. Nothing. They haven't contacted me since, nor I them." He paused again, glancing down at his lap, remembering his cold family that had held him at a distance. "After eight or so years of college — I majored in engineering and minored in social-ish subjects I suppose —, I looked for jobs. Small ones were all I could manage. I eventually bought the _Nocturne_, wanting to make a name for myself. Still young and stupid at that time." He paused once more to gaze up at Aya, who was still listening intently.

"I guess a little bit of them rubbed off on me after all." He avoided specifying who "they" were but Aya understood. "I joined Cerberus — they helped finish payments on this damn ship—, looking for something exciting I guess, and later joined C-Sec after the Coll. . . You know. Then, well. . . all this happened.

"So," Emile started again after several moments of silence in which the couple simply looked at the carpeted floor "you know a bit of my past. What about yours?"

* * *

_So, pretty much nothing happened. I do want to say, now that the chapter's done, that I have made several edits to the previous chapters. Also, I edited this entire chapter with one completely numb hand. If you haven't tried it, I recommend doing it at least once. Very entertaining. _

_Another thing, I will not have an extra filler chapter as the sixth, it would jumble up the narrative too much. When I release the sixth chapter, you'll see why. But on the eleventh or twelfth chapter I still plan on a filler chapter._

_I also recently got a new laptop, which is what I'm editing these chapters on. I was too cheap to pay for Windows Office, so I got OpenOffice as FanFiction "Highly Recommended" it, so I'll be saying how it goes in later chapters in case anybody wants to know. It has Word like Windows, Excel which is called Spreadsheet, Presentation which is like Powerpoint, Drawing (I suppose like art?), Database and Formula. Formula does what you probably think it does by the title, and Database. . . I guess it lets you. . . make new databases? I don't know._

_I'm sorry to say this was the last of my five already produced chapters, so I must write five more and then edit number six. So this series will then be on hiatus for some time. Sorry._

_My hand is still numb._


End file.
